I’m Fighting off a Relapse
The prescription bottles in my medicine cabinet are talking to me, my esophagus is craving the burn of alcohol, and every sharp edge gets a little too close to my skin.
The sun is a little too bright, and happiness is a little too sweet. Life is so boring without drugs.
My sobriety clock is haunting me. The numbers are holding me hostage and taunting me. I’m watching the seconds tick time away, counting down to when I lose this battle.
The chips in my drawer are a useless reminder of bad coffee and uncomfortable chairs. The months they represent have lost their meaning. I’d rather use them for poker.
I’m starting to forget why I’m sober. This isn’t what I thought it would be like. Were the nights I can’t remember really so bad? Do I really care about my damaged body? Do I really need any friends and family around to judge me? Was any of this worth it?
I don’t want to relapse… but it feels like everything that’s supposed to help is turning against me.